The air in Emily's bedroom feels electric as she transforms herself in front of me. Her elegant black dress clings to every curve, revealing just enough skin to be enticing without crossing into obvious. It's a different Emily than the one who curled against me this morning, whispering sleepy endearments against my neck.
I sit on the edge of the bed, watching her apply makeup with surgical precision. Each stroke of the brush is deliberate, practiced, the careful construction of a fantasy. She's applying much more than she ever had for our nights together, but then again, I always told her I preferred her natural. Something about seeing her without it made me feel special, like I was getting the real woman behind the professional veneer.
Her eyes meet mine in the mirror as she presses her lips together, distributing the deep crimson lipstick evenly. There's something vulnerable in her gaze that makes my chest tighten.
"I'm sorry, honey," she says softly, capping the lipstick. "This must be uncomfortable for you."
I force a casual shrug, though my stomach twists with emotions I'm still learning to identify. "It's fine. You look beautiful."
And she does, devastatingly so. Her hair is let down. The black dress is new, I've never seen it before. I wonder if she buys different outfits for different clients, creating unique experiences for each of them the way she once did for me.
Emily turns from the mirror, stepping closer until she stands between my knees. Her perfume envelops me, not the light, floral scent she wears around the house, but something heavier, more exotic. Another transformation.
"You don't have to pretend it doesn't bother you," she says, her fingers gently tilting my chin up to meet her gaze. "Most men wouldn't be okay with this."
I feel a strange throb in my groin, a physical reaction that doesn't quite match my jumbled emotions. It's confusing, jealousy mixed with arousal, concern tangled with desire. I'm still learning to navigate this complex territory of loving a sex worker.
"I'm okay," I say, but my voice betrays me, coming out tighter than intended.
Emily's carefully made-up face shifts. She bites her lower lip.
"Please don't leave me after tonight," she whispers, her fingers trembling slightly against my face.
I stand up and pull her into a tight embrace, careful not to smudge her perfect makeup or disturb her styled hair. Her body melts against mine, relief evident in the way she exhales against my neck.
"I promise I'm not going to leave you," I murmur against her temple. "Not tonight, not ever."
She nods against my chest, her hands clutching the back of my shirt. When she pulls away, her eyes are shining, but her makeup remains flawless—a testament to her years of practice keeping herself together.
"When I get home tonight, I can make it all about you, okay?" she says, her working girl smile sliding back into place. "Whatever you want, however you want it."
I brush my thumb across her cheekbone, savoring the softness of her skin beneath the layer of foundation. "Or I can take care of you for once," I counter gently. "You might be the one needing comfort after work."
Emily laughs, but it's tinged with something fragile. The sound catches in her throat, almost brittle in the quiet of the bedroom.
"But then you wouldn't need me, right?"
The words hang between us, heavier than they should be. Her eyes search mine, and I see a vulnerability there that her perfect makeup can't conceal.
"What? That's not true." I step closer, my hands finding her waist instinctively. "Of course I need you."
Something shifts in her expression, relief, maybe, or something deeper. She reaches up, her cool palm cradling my face with such tenderness it makes my chest ache. Her thumb traces my cheekbone, leaving behind the faintest trace of her expensive perfume.
"Please keep needing me, okay?" she whispers.
I stare into her eyes, trying to understand what's beneath this sudden insecurity. This beautiful, confident woman suddenly sounds almost desperate for reassurance. From me, a high school dropout working graveyard shifts at a convenience store.
I turn my face into her palm, pressing a kiss against her skin. "I want you to need me too, Emily," I admit, the words coming from some raw, honest place inside me.
Without a moment's hesitation, she nods, her crimson lips parting. "I do." Her voice breaks slightly as she pulls me closer. "God, I need you so bad, Danny. More than I've needed anyone."
Our eyes lock, she shifts slightly against me. Her body presses closer, and I know the exact second she feels my arousal straining against my jeans. Her eyes widen slightly.
"Oh," she breathes, her hand sliding down between us. Her fingers trace the outline of my hardness with practiced precision. "I can't give you full service right now, but..." her voice drops to that husky whisper that never fails to make my knees weak, "I could give you a quick handy before I go? Just to take the edge off?"
"No, no," I protest weakly, "you're about to head out. You're fine. Don't worry about me."
But Emily is already sinking to her knees, her crimson lips curved into a determined smile. There's something almost frantic in her movements as she unbuckles my belt and tugs my jeans down with surprising urgency.
"Emily, seriously, you don't have to…"
"I'm just nervous," she confesses, her cool fingers wrapping around my shaft.
I groan as she begins stroking me with expert precision, her thumb swirling over the sensitive head. My hips buck involuntarily toward her touch.
"Really, it's okay," I manage between ragged breaths. "Your job doesn't upset me."
She looks up at me through mascara-thickened lashes, her hand working faster, grip tightening just enough to make my toes curl.
"You say that," she whispers, her voice strained, "but what if while I'm gone you decide it's too much? What if you realize you can't handle it after all?"
I struggle to form coherent thoughts as pleasure builds at the base of my spine. "I'll be at work while you're gone," I remind her, my voice breaking. "I have a half shift today."
Emily's eyes never leave mine as she rubs her thumb directly over my tip, collecting the moisture beading there. A moan tears from my throat, raw and unfiltered.
"See how well I know you?" she murmurs, a hint of pride mixing with her desperation. "No one else could make you feel this good, Danny. No one else knows exactly what you need."
My fingers tangle in her white hair, careful to keep it neat. "Only you," I gasp as her wrist twists in that particular way that makes stars explode behind my eyelids.
"I'll be thinking about you tonight," she whispers, her voice taking on that maternal quality that drives me wild. "About how you're waiting for me."
"I'll be thinking about you too," I say, my voice barely a whisper.
The moment I say it, I feel my cock throb harder in her hand. The mental image flashes unbidden, Emily with another man, her professional smile in place, her body responding the way it does with me.
Emily's hand pauses, her eyes widening slightly as she looks up at me. "Did you just get harder thinking about me with another man tonight?"
Heat floods my face instantly. "No," I stammer, unable to meet her gaze.
She doesn't resume stroking, just stares at me with those knowing blue eyes, her crimson lips curved into a small smile. The silence stretches between us, weighted with unspoken thoughts.
"It's okay if you did," she says finally, her voice gentle, free of judgment. "Some men find it... exciting."
I swallow hard, my mind racing. "I don't know," I admit, the confession barely audible. The truth is, I don't understand my own reaction, the jealousy that twists my stomach alongside this undeniable arousal.
Emily nods slowly. "Okay, baby," she coos, resuming her rhythmic strokes. "We can talk about it later."
The pressure builds rapidly with each expert movement of her hand. I grab her shoulders, my fingers digging into the soft fabric of her dress as the tension coils tighter.
"Emily, I'm about to…"
Before I can finish my warning, she dips her head forward in one fluid motion, her loving lips wrapping around my cock. The wet heat of her mouth engulfs me completely, sending shock waves of pleasure up my spine.
"Let go for Mommy, baby," she mumbles against my flesh, the vibration of her words pushing me over the edge.
I explode with a strangled cry, my hips bucking forward as she takes me deeper. Emily doesn't pull away, swallowing everything I give her with practiced ease. When the last pulse subsides, she releases me with a soft pop, looking up with pride gleaming in her eyes.
"There," she whispers, rising gracefully to her feet and straightening her dress. "Now you'll have something nice to think about while I'm gone."
She reaches for a tissue from the nightstand, delicately blotting her lips before reapplying her lipstick with practiced precision. In seconds, there's no evidence of what just happened, she's once again the polished professional, ready for her evening appointment.
"You're just going to leave right after swallowing my cum?" I say, watching her perfect her lipstick in the mirror. "Isn't that a little rude?"
Emily's eyes meet mine in the reflection, her crimson lips spreading into a wide smile that makes my stomach flip.
"Don't you think it's hot?" she purrs, turning to face me. "Marking me before I go out? Knowing I'll have the taste of you on my tongue while I'm with someone else?"
My cock gives an unmistakable twitch despite having just been thoroughly drained. The reaction isn't lost on Emily, whose smile grows even wider. "Yeah," I admit, my voice coming out rougher than I expected. "It is hot."
She crosses the room to me, careful not to press her body against mine and wrinkle her dress. Her hands cup my face again.
"I love you," she whispers against my mouth, her thumb stroking my cheek.
"I love you too."
Emily steps back, her hands lingering on my face for just a moment longer before she reaches for her purse. "I'll see you tonight," she says, her professional mask sliding back into place, though her eyes still hold that warmth reserved only for me.
"I look forward to it."